Breathless
by Aama
Summary: After disturbing dreams, Kenshin and Kaoru find themselves irresistibly drawn closer to each other. Soon, they have no other choice but to succumb and run breathlessly into each other's arms.
1. Part One

A/N: Allrighty!! Here is my first Rurouni Kenshin piece that has somehow found itself a way out of my overactive mind and onto my computer. It's pure romance, though probably not what one would consider a waff (though I may be wrong, who knows.) I myself would call it a sap (seductive, alluring prose. ^_^) Anyways, do enjoy it and keep in mind the warning posted below (though I'm already sure you'll pay little to know attention to it and probably be more than happy to breeze right by it and get to reading ^_^)  
  
** Warning ** I suppose you saw this coming, but here it is nonetheless: This fan fiction contains sexual situations both mild and graphic, and I will not be held responsible for any damage done by any overexerted minds of my readers (who are all very dear to me, mind you. ^_^) That said, enjoy!!!  
  
Breathless  
  
"When that dam broke, they went breathlessly into each others arms,  
embracing in the fields, under the stars."  
  
Excerpt from "The Red Tent", a novel by Anita Diamant  
  
She had dreamt the dream so many times that it seemed routine now to fall asleep and find herself in that dark world of nothingness, with only him in her view. Him, and the sword that swayed like a leaf in the wind behind him. No hand commanded its movements, and his obliviousness made her blood run cold each and every time she found herself standing helplessly in front of him. Being forced to watch his kind, youthful face, with his deep lavender eyes looking at her so serenely was beyond what she could take when she saw the blade lift itself high into the air and sail smoothly into his back. Sometimes, if she stayed in the world of dreams long enough, she could see the tip of the blade protruding from his chest, in the angle made from where his gi opened to reveal his skin. Most often than not, seeing that would rouse her from the horrific nightmare, her mouth opened in a shrill cry, tears trailing down her face and soaking into her futon. But sometimes, she would remain on even after watching him being stabbed through, and watch his eyes die first. Like the sun sinking behind the horizon, the life behind his strange purple irises would seem to simply sink into the darkness around him, causing his ethereal gaze to fade away. Then he would collapse, his body crumpling in on itself, and she would watch him disappear into the darkness that had stolen away the life in his eyes. She did not know what happened after she saw him fall, for she always woke up after that if not sometime before.  
  
The dream was draining her, it seemed. She could tell it. When she glanced in her mirror each morning to pull her hair up into its high ponytail, she could see the unbecoming dark circles beneath her dark blue eyes. Her face seemed so ghostly compared to the vibrant colors of her kimonos, and coupled with the dark circles, made her appear ill.  
  
He asked about her often, his voice laden with concern for her. "Miss Kaoru, would you like me to call Miss Megumi to come see you?" She would smile at seeing him so worried for her, but would decline nonetheless, knowing that Megumi would say it was all in her head. Or perhaps the attentive lady doctor would notice the ghastly dark circles and demand that she get more sleep.  
  
But more sleep was simply impossible. The dream would never allow her more than a few hours at a time before creeping its way into her head yet again and terrifying her into consciousness. She could actually care less about herself and her lack of sleep; it was the man in the dream who worried her beyond comprehension. The man who continuously glanced over his shoulder at her as he crouched by the washbasin, scrubbing clothes as if it were the most important job a man could ever do. His dark lavender eyes always reflected her sapphire ones-with nothing but worry set in their depths, as if he too were plagued with horrifying dreams late in the night. Not his occasional nightmares of his days as a manslayer, but nightmares that made his face mirror hers so strangely.  
  
She began noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes as well her own, but they seemed darker and larger than the ones blemishing hers. His eyelids drooped throughout the entire day, giving him the appearance of a man with nothing left in the world. She soon found herself glancing at him just as much as he glanced at her, her eyes searching for a clue as to what ailed him. But just as her nighttime horrors eluded him, his did the same with her. Both of them suffered from the same thing, but neither of them knew it.  
  
His dream was so much different than hers, and yet so similar. He stood in the middle of emptiness, his eyes locked on her silhouette far away in the distance. She seemed to look straight at him, her eyebrows furrowed as if in fear, her mouth open as if ready to call out a warning. He would smile for her, trying to tell her that all was well, that he was here. But his smile faded when he saw bodiless arms reach out from the blackness that surrounded her and close around her chest like a vice. The disembodied arms drew her back, farther and farther away from him as her eyes remained locked on him, worried for him even though she was being carried away into the darkness. Her mouth closed as if in defeat, and the last thing he would do before being forced awake was yell at her, telling her to use the strength he knew she possessed and save herself. Because no matter how hard he ran, no matter how much he willed himself to chase after her and her abductor, he could never move from the place he was in.  
  
And so he watched her constantly, wondering if his dream would become a reality, and he would have to watch her being taken from him. She always looked so sad, so alone. He wanted to draw her into a room with him, look her in the eyes, and beg to her to tell him what was wrong. He wanted to comfort her, to console her. He also wanted to just touch her, to run his hands down the length of her arms, feeling the smooth, slightly-defined muscles beneath the sleeves of her kimono. He wanted to rest his fingers in the slope of flesh where her neck joined with her shoulder. He wanted to loosen her obi to press his hand into the erotic curve at the small of her back. And he was ashamed of himself for wanting these things-for wanting her.  
  
But what he didn't know was that she wanted the same from him. She watched him idly as he bent over the washbasin day after day, then stood to hang the wet clothes to dry in the light breezes that passed through their yard. She would follow the movements of his lean arms, and wish for his gi to slip from his shoulders as he raised and lowered his hands to hang the clothes. She wanted to touch his face, where his scar marked his otherwise smooth and flawless skin, to trace its cross-like shape with her fingertip. She wanted to hook her fingers in the opening of his gi and pull it down until she grazed the skin of his abdomen with her knuckles. She wanted to sit behind him and tell him to lean back into her so that she could feel the gentle movements of his fiery hair across her naked breasts. She wanted all this and more from him.  
  
She simply wanted to speak to him, to ask him why he seemed so sad all the time, and why he watched her as if she could disappear into the breezes of the morning air. But she was afraid that he would only smile at her and tell her he was just fine. He was just fine, that he was.  
  
So she remained silent and only watched him, and wanted him.  
  
And he watched her continue to simply look at him from time to time. Her eyes remained so worried, but every once in a while he could make out something else trapped inside them. It seemed to try to hide itself, just as he tried to hide his yearning for her. It ducked behind the concern in her lovely eyes and almost seemed to watch him just as closely as she did. But instead of being disturbed by this strange thing that hid in her eyes, he was fascinated by it. So he tried to catch her eye more often, to try to study it, to try to figure out where it came from and exactly what it was.  
  
This thing, whatever it was, made her appear so exotic. It made the sad dark circles beneath her sad dark eyes fade until her cheeks were glowing like the horizon at sun down. It made her face come alive again by driving away the flushed tinge of her skin. It made him long for her even more.  
  
His gaze had changed. In only one single day she had watched his eyes, so strangely melancholy and distanced, light up with something so oddly attractive that she soon found herself gazing back at him with more curiosity than concern. If she caught his eye at the right time of time of day, when the bright springtime sun was just overhead, she swore that she could see him looking at her almost drunkenly-almost lustfully. A coy smile graced her pretty face, and she gave a small laugh at his strange expression even though the look in his amethyst-colored eyes made her abdomen suddenly grow tight. He saw her smile and heard her slight laugh, and he grinned at the enchanting sound of it. He had heard her laugh many times before, but the delicate sound that came from her gentle lips just now was so unbelievably alluring that he forgot himself and stared at her, transfixed by her slight smile.  
  
She wondered why he stared at her, why his gaze suddenly transformed from longing to amazement. She wanted to revert to her usual defensive behavior and demand to know what he was staring so intently at, but she soon realized how strangely captivating he was. His eyes were so vivid, so beguiling, that she found herself lost in them.  
  
And so they stared, their eyes fixed on each other's, both of them innocently enchanting and seducing the other without truly realizing it. But it would come to them soon; it would revel itself on a strange night, with nothing between them but air, and nothing above them but the stars.  
  
A/N: Ok, well, this is my first Rurouni Kenshin piece, and I hope to make it a decent one. Be warned that no upcoming chapters will be so mild as this one (but I think you've figured that out). Please do leave me a review to tell me your thoughts, critiques, or ideas on this, and I will be much obliged. ^_^ Thanks for reading!! 


	2. Part Two

A/N: Well, my dear readers, here is the second part of my first RK fic. I'm giving all of you a warning beforehand-Part Three will contain a lemon as far as I can tell (I haven't written it yet, so I'm not sure where my overactive, hyper mind will take this story. At the least, a half- lemon, whatever the hell that may be ^_^) But, as of now, there will be definite sexual content in the next installment. I want to thank all my reviewers for reading and taking the time to drop me a line to tell me they liked what they read. Well, enjoy part two!! ^_^  
  
Part Two  
  
The dream came and went just as it had before, but there was something different about their nights now. They were longer and darker, sometimes streaked with lightning, sometimes deafening with the sound of rain hammering on the roof of the dojo. They were full to the brim of things of nature, and they were full of other dreams besides the two that simultaneously haunted the man and woman living together-and yet were still so apart.  
  
He dreamt of her, and she dreamt of him. And although neither knew of what was happening within the mind of the other, they sensed each other sometimes in the blackness of the night. She would startle herself awake with the sound of her own voice, and she would sit up in her futon, sweat dripping between her breasts and soaking the dark hair that lined her face. But what bothered her was not that she often awoke in the middle of the night, her sleeping yukata soaked with her own sweat, it was that she realized her own cries has awoken her-and yet she didn't know why she was crying out in the first place. Was it the nightmare of seeing him run through with the steel blade of a sword? Did she cry out for him? Or did the startling sound of her voice have anything to do with the odd sensation between her thighs?  
  
Flustered, she settled back down in her futon, her cheek resting in her palm, and tried to remember the dream that had caused her to emit such a sound. She only hoped the noise hadn't woken Kenshin or Yahiko.  
  
He knew the moment she awoke, not because he heard the sound of her voice echoing through the walls of the dojo, but because he felt her leave the place of dreaming. He soon found himself awake as well, lying on his back, his eyes open but not able to see due to the dense night that surrounded him. He heaved a sigh, knowing that he had been dreaming before being startled awake by the strange sensation of feeling her being startled awake.  
  
He listened carefully, trying to hear what he could in the night air, but nothing was there except for his labored breath. And so he listened to himself, and wondered why on earth his breathing refused to return to normal. It was like he was running. His lungs burned and ached like he had been running for hours without so much as slowing to a trot to give himself a rest. He sat up quickly, suddenly bothered by the abnormal behavior of his body. And it went away. His breaths came deep and slow, as if he were pacing them. But he had done nothing.  
  
She thought she could hear someone breathing just a moment ago, but now it was gone. It seemed to have been a part of her dream, but she wasn't sure of anything now-except for the strange sensations in her lower stomach that always came and went with her dream.  
  
Still flustered and unsure of the unusual happenings of the night, they returned to their resting positions on their futons in their separate rooms, but still were unable to truly rest. Soon, they fell back into the place of dreams, and were once again submitted to the mysterious visions and sensations of their own sleeping minds.  
  
The days and the nights passed on. And they awoke in the morning and parted at night to lie down to sleep. And the dreams came and went like the days and nights, always changing, never the same as the one that came before. And soon, the man and the woman began to anticipate the sinking of the sun and rising of the moon to replace it. They began to look forward to drifting away into sleep. They awaited the dreams. Because as time wore on, their memories came to them and they were able to remember the feel of each other's hands, the heat of each other's body, the scent of each other's skin. And they began to long for the day to end so that they could walk swiftly to their separate rooms and fall into each other's arms a soon as their minds joined in the world of sleep and dreams.  
  
She dreamt of his hair, like the burning of the setting sun, and saw herself cast as a shadow in its wake, bathed by its vibrant glow. She saw it's binding fall to the ground, untied and pulled from his vivid fiery strands by her own trembling fingers. She felt her fingers glide through it as if she were trailing her fingers through red water. When undone, it fell down his sculpted back like a river falling down the face of cliff. And she couldn't keep her hands away from it. She felt mesmerized, enchanted, totally transfixed by its silky texture and the way it wound around her fingers.  
  
Then she awoke again and saw that her fingers were splayed, as if they had curled themselves around something, and she smiled as she remembered.  
  
He dreamt of his own hands, like travelers journeying over her skin, and he watched them from afar as they rested at the slopes of her shoulders, the places where the blood in her veins could be felt just beneath the skin. He saw them smooth over the loose, black hair that fell down her back, letting them drop and drop until they reached the breadth of her hips. His fingers pressed the gentle curves of her pelvic bone on each of her hips. His hands wound around her back and rested her on the ground, where she lay as her skin began to tremble beneath his touches. And he smoothed his palms, rough from swordplay, over her skittish body, warming her and calming her.  
  
Then he awoke and saw that his hands were laid flat on the smooth futon beneath him, and he smiled as he remembered.  
  
They dreamt of speaking their hearts to each other. She told him her fantasies of visiting the cities of Europe, of seeing the cathedrals, museums, and monuments in Paris, London, and Barcelona. She told him how she longed to journey on an ocean liner across the sea to the place known as America. She wanted to see the bustling avenues of New York and the swaying cotton fields of the South. He told her how he wanted nothing more than to lay down his sword and pick up the handle of a plow and scythe. He told her his yearning to be a man of the earth, to rely on the rain and nothing else. And they spoke of the life they would share, their days and nights full of happiness and adoration.  
  
They dreamt of each other as if they were truly there with each other. In their sleeping minds, they never thought to suspect that they were dreaming, that they were simply thinking of the other person and not truly falling into each other over and over again. But they realized when they awoke, when they saw that they were alone and not embraced in the arms of the other.  
  
The same questions haunted them both. Why now? Why after so long of living beneath the same roof with nothing more than a subtle smile or quick, nervous brush of a hand over skin? Why were amorous dreams lingering on like ghosts? What were their purpose, if they even had one?  
  
She thought them a sign, and he thought them a miracle. But neither knew that the other suffered just as happily from the same dilemma. Their previous dilemma, the frightening nightmares that had caused them to stare at each other in fear and worry, were now buried somewhere in the dreams of the past. Her seeing him murdered by an unmanned sword; him seeing her carried away by bodiless hands-they no longer seeped into their minds to cause them to weep and cry out in fear in their sleep. They were forgotten, replaced by the odd comfort of an emotion and yearning that neither the red-haired man nor the onyx-haired woman seemed to have the courage to face. They reveled in their dreams, and their eyes were drawn to each other's more and more during the sunlight hours.  
  
He continued to look at her and she continued to look at him just as they did when bothered by the nightmares. But now their eyes burned like hearths, stoked with the passionate dreams of their nights. But even though his eyes longed to see his hands trailing the lengths and breadths of her body, he kept his hands busy with scrubbing dishes. And even though her eyes longed to see her fingers tangled in the fiery waterfall of his hair, she kept he fingers busy by wrapping them around the hilt over her bokken. But their eyes remained the same-wandering, desiring, but still unsure and fearful.  
  
The days and nights passed on, and the life that the man and woman shared remained the same. But one night, the dreams that had ensnared them would bring them to life as suddenly as they had come upon them one night so long ago. And on that night, when the last dreams came and went, they would find each other somewhere in the darkness and fall into each other's arms. They would learn to touch and smell and taste, instead of simply see. They would find themselves after so many days and nights of being together, and yet so far away from each other.  
  
A/N: I have a knack for stalling, don't I? ^_^ I do it for only one reason though-to make the end result that much better! Part Three is soon to come! Thanks again for reviewing (and those of you who mentioned that you'd either heard of or actually read "The Red Tent"-that's a magnificent book, huh? I adore it to no end!) 


	3. Part Three

A/N: Well, here's the 3rd and final part of my fic. I hope all of you have enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! ^_^  
  
Part Three  
  
He had gone to the river earlier in the day. Why he had gone so suddenly and unexpectedly, she couldn't figure out. She had been too busy with the long, intrepid nights to pay much attention to him lately during the day, even though her dreams were full of him.  
  
He went because his mind longed for the soothing, melodious flow of the river. Its sound, its motion, its shape-they calmed him and pacified him like nothing else. And he had gone to think of her. How she haunted his nights, how she haunted his days as well, and how the silhouette of her body and the sound of her voice remained burned into his eyes and ears throughout all hours. He sat motionless by the riverbank, his face blank of any emotion, his mind a torrid mess of chaotic thoughts. He yearned to abandon his marvelous dreams of her and hold her in the world of reality. He desired to speak with her in his own voice, not the voice of his dreams that lay trapped inside his sleeping mind. But how? How could he ever have her when they were so different? Her so young and untainted. Him so aged and stained. So different, and yet with the same heart that longs for peace and contentment.  
  
His dark lavender eyes gazed at the gentle flow of the water. What could he do? The dreams were driving him mad with desire. His soul had been pining for years, and now the dreams were finally making him realize his intense love for her. Everything about her enchanted him, made him wish to know her deeper and truer. But the memory of his past held him at bay.  
  
She wanted nothing more than to rid her nights of him, and yet she wanted nothing more than to join him in his. If only she could find the courage to reach out to him in the day instead of wait for him to come once sleep fell upon her. If only she could just speak to him as she had wanted to for years, to tell him everything chained inside of her heart, to show him what she dared only show in her dreams. But something held her back from him day after day, something intangible and foreign to her. And she hated that she could not identify it, for if she could put a name to it she could perhaps defeat it. But it was as obscure as the blackness beyond the stars over her head.  
  
She stared upwards into the night, her eyes gazing admiringly at the scintillating dots of light. The moon seemed to hang low, its full, sound face glowing brilliantly in the clear night. She sat silently on the veranda, her eyes fixed in the distance, searching for him. The darkness of the night unnerved her, reminded her of something from not so long ago. Her eyes narrowed and stared into the dimness beyond the dojo, to the doors of the gate.  
  
His steps were slow and paced, relaxed from the long afternoon spent by the river. But the light of the moon was suddenly cut off, drenching him in the darkness of the surrounding night. A drifting cloud, he thought. A storm was possibly on its way. The unsettling density of the night was suddenly weighing upon him, torturing his memory with images of nights he had slept through not so long ago. His pace quickened immediately, his mind telling him to hurry back to her. His hand unconsciously gripped the hilt of his blade.  
  
She could feel her heart speed up its pounding rhythm within her chest. Her breathing deepened, and her hands suddenly began to tremble. The sound of the gate opening startled her at first, then sent her into a spiral of relief-until she saw him framed in the darkness of the night.  
  
Her saw her stand from her seated position on the veranda, her hands at her sides, her fists clenched. Blank nothingness surrounded her like a void. His memory came rushing back like floodwaters. The nightmare! The nightmare that had plagued him night after night before being replaced by the peaceful, intoxicating dreams of her. In these dreams she laid naked in his arms, her words soft and loving, but in the dream she had stood motionless in the midst of darkness as disembodied arms wrapped around her and carried her away to nowhere. He saw his nightmare coming alive in the land beyond sleep.  
  
Any moment now, she expected to see the bloodied tip of a sword push through his chest and taunt her. She remembered now; she remembered it all so very excruciatingly vivid. Him standing among the blackness of the night, the sword hovering in the air at his back. Her eyes glazed over in horror. No. No, not after so many days of wanting to tell him, wanting to touch him. She would not see him killed right in front of her eyes. She would not watch him slip out of her grasp before she even had the chance to touch him with the heated caress of desire. No, she would die herself before she would watch him die.  
  
His mind screamed furiously at him. No. He would not see her taken away from him as if he were powerless. He would not stand silently as she faded away into the blank void that surrounded her. No, he would not allow it.  
  
Their breath suddenly left them as if their lungs had collapsed. Furious and sick with fear and apprehension, their bodies began to move forward toward each other. Her mind thought of nothing but pushing him out of the path of the blade; his mind thought of nothing more but grabbing her in his embrace before the bodiless arms could. They bolted across the distance that separated them, their hands balled into fists, their muscles tense, their faces reflecting the pure terror of losing each other buried inside their hearts. They would not lose each other to the nothingness. They would not watch it happen!  
  
Breathlessly, they collided into each other in a blur of colors. Their bodies came together as if molded by a potter's hands to lock together perfectly. Their arms encircled the other in a blind attempt to hold them to the place of the living, away from the darkness. He crushed her to him; she grasped handfuls of his gi in her tiny fists. And suddenly their mouths found one another in their mad search for breath.  
  
Longing to be full, theirs lips wrestled, their mouths parted. They lost themselves and forgot the supposed dangers of the night that surrounded them. They were shocked by the outburst of lust that now flamed in their skin, the scent of their sweat, and the blind touch of their hands. They fought each other in a dazed battle, their hands gripping fabric, their lungs heaving for their lost breath, their mouths crushing and opening each other's wildly. Their chained, idle passion was erupting upon them, attacking them ardently like a caged beast suddenly set free. And they could not contain it, not after so many days and nights of feeding it and desiring it.  
  
His palms pressed to her face, and her hands came up to grip his wrists to keep his touch planted firmly upon her. Now that they had each other, they would not let go. The startling shriek of lightening across the sky was what finally separated them, their lips bruised, their fingertips and palms numb, their eyes glazed and unfocused. They stood motionless below to the stars, enveloped in each other's embrace, their lungs heaving for breath, their minds searching for a reason as to why they collapsed into each other so passionately.  
  
The reverberating rumble of thunder above their heads brought them to their senses again. Their eyes met in a fluid, graceful motion, causing them both to fall into each other's gaze. Their dreams had met in the world of wakefulness, brought to life by the terrifying nightmares that had come before them. When they had seen each other surrounded by the night, the dam had broken and they had rushed to each other out of terror. But the ripened longing for each other had shocked them awake once they had touched, and it had set itself loose upon them like a cascading waterfall.  
  
With no words spoken, she took his hand in hers and walked slowly back to the dojo. The storm had arrived, and the rain would come soon. It heralded what was to come, for they were finally free to know each other as their souls, minds, and bodies had so desperately wished to for so long. The rain would wash away the nightmares of terror and the dreams of desire from the past, and they would finally touch and speak to each other truly. The storm was the mirror image of the turmoil their lives had gone through, and yet it was also the symbol of what lay buried in their future.  
  
The halls of the dojo were dark, but they found their way to their bedroom by the lightning that illuminated their path. Their fingertips closed the sliding door behind them, and their bodies found each other once again. They fell into each other's arms as if they were the only way to live, as if they would die if they remained separated from each other.  
  
In the darkness of the room, lit in intervals by the vivid flashes of lightning beyond the window, he touched her for the first time on the skin beneath her chin. She tilted her head back as his knuckles gently brushed across her throat and his hand opened to cup the nape of her neck in his palm. He brought her forward into a kiss as tumultuous as the storm coming to life outside. They broke away from each other, and her hands found the opening of his gi, the bared skin of his chest. Her hands ran upwards, traveling the length of his torso until they lingered on his collarbone, where they worked their way beneath his gi until her palms were cupping his shoulders. The gi fell in layers around his waist, and she pulled her hands away at the sight of his naked chest.  
  
He reached out his hands to hers, curling his fingers around her nervous ones and placing them gently over his heart, allowing her to feel the rhythmic beating beneath her palm. Enchanted, she moved into him to be closer to the sensation. His hands moved around her back, to the ties of her obi, where they slowly went to work untying and uncurling the thick fabric.  
  
As they undressed each other, their eyes remained locked together. They spoke to each other even though their mouths never opened. He heard her anxiety; she heard his hesitation. But their eyes spoke gently and cautiously, whispering and sighing as their garments fell from their shadowed bodies to their feet.  
  
He turned away from her and sat upon the futon, where he reached out his hands to hers, asking that she take them. As their fingers twined together, her worry left her and his hesitation disappeared. There was no past here in this room; only now. And they knew, and their bodies responded to their touches as never before, awakening and singing as if brought to life.  
  
She sat beside him, where he engulfed her in his arms and pulled her down with him upon the futon, the soft curves of her body nestled against his. Their touches became more fervent, more desperate, more lively, until they could not restrain themselves any longer.  
  
Their joining was soft and gentle, like flowing water. Their movements were slow and lost to the world outside their door. They saw only each other's faces and heard only each other's voices, rising and falling in the darkness that surrounded them. The air lit up with the vivid sparks of lightning, bathing them in the white light before plunging them once again into blackness.  
  
They cried out and called for each other, grasping each other holding each other as if they could float away into the torrid storm beyond their window. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her scent of life and womanhood, relishing the feel of her finally with him as he had so longed her to be. She pressed her hands to his naked back, studying the sensation of the taut, lean muscles straining beneath his skin. She felt him move within her, her eyes open and staring in wonder that such a feeling existed. He lost himself in her, his mind wandering beyond its boundaries.  
  
All they knew was each other. And when their bodies peaked, clinging to the edge of nothingness, they forgot the nights that had tortured them for so long. He forgot the sight of her being carried away into the black void; she forgot the sight of the white steel piercing his chest. They forgot the nights that had followed when all they longed for was each other; the nights they first learned how much they desired to touch each other, to be together. As their voices mingled with the rolling baritones of the thunder and the sound of the rain beating upon the dojo roof, they forgot all that lay in their past.  
  
And as they rested afterwards, their arms wrapped securely around each other, their faces close together, their breath heavy and labored, they saw their future in the darkness that surrounded them. And the light flooded their room, splitting the blackness in two, illuminating their faces. There they saw what waited for them, and they flowed away into sleep as if riding upon a river current, content in the vastness of each other's arms and glowing with a light that could only come from the depths of love.  
  
The End 


End file.
